Duty and Respect
by rose125
Summary: Lydia's compromise of the handsome stranger, Mr Darcy, throws Lizzy's life into upheaval. (Runs parallel to Marry in Haste)
1. Prologue

Quick background for those who haven't ready the Darcy edition;

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Drunk. Fiztwilliam Darcy was undeniably drunk. It was a state he generally tried to avoid, but then again, he hadn't intended for it to happen this time either. But the strain of arriving at Netherfield the day of a ball on top of his churning anxieties over Georgiana had got him half way there before he'd even realised it.

He'd been loath to part with her – even today, a full two months later than he'd intended to leave. She was still so fragile, so nervous… On top of that, there had been no peace to be had at Netherfield Hall; Miss Bingley's sniping, the pressure of the ball, Bingley's obvious infatuation with another grasping, provincial-

Darcy turned on his heel and strode to the balcony. Several deep breaths of nipping winter air calmed him a little, and he wondered how long he could stay outside. He doubted he'd be missed: he didn't know anyone beyond his own party, and they were occupied hosting. Surely no one had noticed him leave anyway?

He was wrong. "Snakes alive!" exclaimed a short lady, barrelling into him. "You-" she heaved for breath, "You'll do." The next five minutes were a rush of darkness and light, shouting and crowds.

Dazed from the drink and the cold and the sudden assault of the women, he only caught snatches. "LYDIA!", a matron's face. Bingley was there? Looking angry….? Cries of "honour" and "compromise" and a scornful tirade. "Lydia," again, but softer and – flustered? The woman – Lydia? – had disappeared almost as quickly as she came, but others lingered longer.

The pandemonium eventually died down, as the swirl of onlookers moved back indoors. Left alone, in the sobering cool of the night, Darcy finally had time to reflect on his first ever kiss.


	2. Ashamed

Ashamed. She'd felt a great many emotions these past two days, as her life had turned upside down, but shame weighed her down the most. Never would she forget the moment as he mounted for his journey to London, "I'll return within the fortnight. I am determined to do my duty, in every respect." He was angry, certainly, but proper, and not unkind.

And so she sat by the window, stewing in her shame. Shame at Lydia's foolishness. How could she? She had exposed them all, and implicated an honourable stranger in the process. Lizzy gazed at the frost on the lawn. Stone-hard, frozen. She sighed.

Shame at her mother's reaction. Her grasping, selfish, scheming. Her callous disregard for the life of the gentleman. Mercenary. And her father, weak. Lizzy had never approved her father's indolence, but had at the very least held him in firm affection. Now, however- She leaned her head on the window pane, sighing again. Mr Darcy's honourable actions, his upright response, his calm handling of her family… He was a true gentleman, and, as her respect for him grew, she knew she would never see her father with the same eyes. How could she love the man who had stood by passive and let this unfold under his very roof? The windowpane was cold. A cold that seeped into her skin, rivalling the coldness she felt inside.

She idly traced patterns in the cloud her breath had made on the pane. The heaviest shame of all was her own. Her cowardly, selfish acceptance of the situation. She thought back to his first visit, the day after the ball.

"I will do my duty by your daughter." His voice was heavy, his demeanour resigned. She tried to catch his eye, hoping he would realise the trick being played on him. He had not looked at her since he arrived.

"She'll do well enough for you, I'm sure," Mr Bennet's voice was filled with sardonic levity. "Not a lot of gentlemen can hope for the honour of a man's favourite daughter in marriage." He'd sighed, then, but Lizzy wasn't sure that the sigh was for _her. _She suspected he'd merely miss the company. "She's a good girl, my-"

"Well, yes," her mother had pettishly interrupted, "that is all well and good, but what of the wedding? It is no good until all is resolved and you are married." Still, he did not look at her.

Lizzy thought it strange to conduct such a conversation in the drawing room, as though he were just visiting and taking tea. "I will deal with the particulars, madam." Mr Darcy's voice was firm, authoritative.

Mrs Bennet sniffed, "I don't see that I shouldn't have a share in my own daughter's wedding."

"Very well," his voice had a hard edge now, the edge of a man accustomed to negotiating business, "you shall plan the wedding – you and your" he nearly looked at her, but couldn't seem to bring himself to do it. Lizzy blushed. "You and your family."

He'd explained that he would leave for town the next day. He would obtain a license and draw up a settlement, returning within the fortnight to claim his wife. _Wife._ It had made her stomach churn, and her father had abruptly ceased his pacing, turning toward the fire and running his hand across his brow. Poor papa.

He'd been subdued, later, when she went to his book room. "Lizzy," his voice was low and pained, "I am heartily ashamed of myself- no-" he help up a hand to prevent her from interrupting, "I know what I am. A useless father, and foolish, to boot. Lydia's wanton behaviour does weigh on my conscience, truly. But," he held out a hand, beckoning her, "my Lizzy. I will always regret that you have been made to bear my mistakes."

She had never received so much emotion from her father and – quite overcome – she simply buried her head in his shoulder. At length, she exerted herself to reassure him. "I am sure Mr Darcy is not such a bad man."

"No," Mr Bennet had looked almost amused, harbouring some mischievous secret, "I am sure you will not have a poor life with him."

"And," she mused, "not all who choose their partners find happiness in marriage anyway."

Her father had only sighed.

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What do you think, dear readers? I'm enjoying this so much, and your comments are certainly sharpening this tale up!


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